


Anchored

by Birdie Blue (calamitywritesstuff)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Mild Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamitywritesstuff/pseuds/Birdie%20Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor can only handle so much stress... until the cracks start to appear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchored

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings! Mild spoilers: Bull's personal Quest and the fall of Haven

The woman that they called Herald stood at the top of the world, her hands gripping the balcony’s handrail so tightly her knuckles were white. The stone was cold, any heat from the day long gone. She stood at the top of her fortress, which in turn stood on the top of a mountain.

The air was cold, biting with teeth of ice that were swept up from the mountains. Milliara took a deep breath, trying to catch enough of the wind to chill the hot knot in her chest. Though the wind was strong enough to whip her hair back from her face, it did nothing to calm her.

Andraste had some fucking sense of humour. To pick an elf to be the leader of thousands… millions… of souls in Thedas. An elf who didn’t even believe in Andraste, who didn’t believe in _herself_. Now she was this goddess’s Herald. The leader of the Inquisition, and trapped on the top of a mountain with millions of eyes on both sides of the fade watching her every step. Every move. Every breath.

The hopeful and devout saw a saviour, guiding them to safety by the light of her left hand. They saw an Icon. The hateful and corrupt, though, they saw her for what she really was. An Imposter. A stupid little elf who was caught spying and punished by a goddess to balance on the precipice of the world, balancing the weight of a continent on her shoulders.

It was crushing her.

At first the excursions had helped, back when she had just been the Herald. A little more mortal, she’d been able to forget about the pressure while ranging out in the hinterlands. But since arriving at Skyhold, since becoming the inquisitor, any margin for error was lost.

Nights were the worst. They always had been, even when the ‘worst’ she had to think about was catching supper. Laying awake under the stars was easier though, than staring up at tonnes of rock.

Leliana spread rumours that the Herald stepped out so often at night to pray, to seek guidance from Andraste herself… but the Herald had noticed that the nightengale’s chicks flocked closer to her as time passed. It was stupid to think that the Inquisitor would be _allowed_ to fail. Not with so much riding on her shoulders.

The pain in her hand flared, and Millie grit her teeth.

The fucking anchor. A slash in her hand, that held the power to seal tears in the fade. It was more than that though. Andraste’s fucking anchor was insurance. Holding the Herald in place. There was no one else that could step up and relieve her as inquisitor. Not while she was the only one with the fucking anchor in her hand.

“It’s permanent,” Corypheus had said. That night, while stumbling through snow deep enough to drown her, Lavellan had considered cutting her whole hand off. To get rid of it. Alone, no one would know.

For some reason, she hadn’t, and kept walking. One step after another until her eyelashes froze together through tears, and the only warmth she had felt was the burn of her exhausted legs.

Lavellan rose up on her tip toes, letting a soft puff of breath out from her lips. She opened her eyes to watch snow drift from the mountain tops, flying. She leaned her hips against the cold stone, feeling the cold seep through the leather of her pants. It would-

“Boss,” a heavy and hot hand clamped down on her shoulder. Another anchor, another thing holding her in place, at the top of the world. “Don’t.”

“I wasn’t,” she lied, twisting, trying to shake off his grip. While the weight of his hand eased, he didn’t let go.

“You’re a shitty liar,” Bull said, stepping up next to her. He didn’t try to pull her back, he didn’t block the wind. He just stood there. His hand might have been Andraste’s itself, pinning her in place. “Well, not shitty. You’re actually pretty good at it. You’ve got some of them fooled, but Red and I…”

“You k _now_.”

“Yeah, we know.”

“I can’t breathe,” Lavellan said, words tumbling from her lips. “I can’t even think. Everyone watches where I go, what I wear and how I walk. They wait on my words like Andraste herself is speaking.” The tight panic in her chest twisted and the woman pulled her left hand from the stone. The putrid green light made her feel sick, she curled her fingers into the slash to hide it.

“I’ve never stayed in a place this long in my _life_ , I don’t even believe in Andraste-” She paused. “Well, I didn’t before this. Now I just think she’s insane.” 

Bull stayed quiet, his hand didn’t move. Millie looked up at him. She wanted him to agree, to say that she was a mistake and they’d found something else. Instead he turned to face her, leaning against the railing.

“I never wanted this,” she said. "Why didn’t she pick Cassandra? Or… or Leliana? Instead she picks a fucked-up elf? I don’t want to order which regiments live and which die,” the words clotted in her throat. She gasped, the air was too thin to breathe.

“How… how am I supposed to live with myself?”

“I know, Boss,” his voice was easy to focus on. Familiar, calm. He lifted his hand from her shoulder.

“I didn’t expect any of this either. Routine job, right? Sure, there’s a hole in the sky, but all of… this cult shit?” he said, gesturing at Skyhold below. “Not what I signed the Chargers up for.”

“Please, please don’t leave,” the words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to think about them.

“Leave? I’m not going anywhere.” He looked down at her, the light from the anchor made him look like half a monster. “We gotta see this through. You, me, Red, Cassandra. The others, they don’t need this like we do. They’ve got things waiting for them after, but us,” he nodded, his mouth tightening into a line. “We’ve got to see this through. Besides, where else would I go?”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“I told you,” he said. “ _Let me have that one_.”

"Sorry.” The elf tucked her hands under her arms. The panic was starting to fade, slowly, but enough for her to realise how cold the air was. If she was lucky, she could pretend that was the reason she was trembling.

“I didn’t believe in her either, not until I saw how messed up this all is. Gods are assholes. And no one but an asshole would stick one person with a job this big,” Bull said, shaking his head. “Are you going to stay out here for a while?”

The thought of going back under the thick weight of rock, made the panic flare up, hot and tight. Milliara shook her head.

“Not, not yet. I can’t, it’s too…” she waved her good hand at it. “Heavy.”

“Fine, but I’m staying here until you’re ready.” Bull grunted, and stood. “And I’m getting blankets because while you’re happy to freeze yourself, Red would kill me if I let you.” He looked at her, eyes narrowed but not angry. Gauging her, and the Herald nodded her head.

“I won’t,” she answered. He hadn’t asked, but she answered anyways. “I’m okay now.”

“Bullshit.”

“Please don’t. It'd stink up my room,” she said. It was a bad joke followed by a fragile smile, but it seemed to work. He let out a bark of laughter and turned to head inside.

“No promises. That beef stew was pretty spicy.”


End file.
